


What is a legacy?

by LizzytheWriter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcoholism, Angst, Dad!Dean, Depression, Destiel - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, I'd like to remind everyone that major character death does not mean main character death, I'm not trying to be a hoe, It's just something that evolved naturally in the scene while i was writing it, M/M, and I'm really sorry it had to be this way, angsty af, but look guys, canon!verse, canon!verse divergence, honestly i can't think of anything that would trigger someone but like idk lemme know?, i mean technically yes, it just kind of happened that way alright, it's not like i planned on killing this character, mary winchester is a badass, none of this happy fluffy shit, rowena is only trying to do her best, season 12 divergence, this is gonna get dark real quick alright, worried dad cas, worried dad dean, you are no exception, you should know that I make people cry okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-09 04:46:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7787329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizzytheWriter/pseuds/LizzytheWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do you do when a one night stand shows up at your door with a child you didn't know you had? What do you do when that child isn't all that she seems? What happens when prophecies and fate try to rule your life? Well the Winchester Legacy just got bigger, and we're all about to find out. </p><p>Dark things are afoot in the Supernatural Universe, and it all revolves around the daughter of a certain Winchester. Certainly Dean never planned on having the apple pie life that he's always longed for, but this might just be his chance. At least for a few weeks. But the daughter of a Winchester and a Nephilim has powerful consequences written all over her. Needless to say she should come with a warning label: "Child of Destiny, Handle With Extreme Caution." </p><p>Regular-ish updates as my university schedule allows, and promises of a bittersweet if not happy ending. Tissues are advisable past chapter 3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 3 Percent Chance of Failure (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter came out in two parts on tumblr if you'd be interested in reading them here: http://writing-for-the-winchesters.tumblr.com/tagged/3-percent-chance-of-failure (and subsequently now that I think about it I will post them as part one and two chapters here so the split makes sense while reading).
> 
> I expect the rest of these chapters tone much longer than this one, but really this is just set up to get us to the meat of the story. I'm going to try to update regularly. 
> 
> This chapter is not proofread so please be kind! 
> 
> ENJOY!

“Sam!” The shout echoed off the tiled corridors and into Sam’s ears. He didn’t respond because he thought it was a dream. His brother was dead. “Sam!” The voice that reached his ears this time couldn’t be real either. Mary Winchester was long gone. So he continued to lay on his side, facing the bare tile walls of the prison cell. “Sam!” The third voice was more real, but Cas shouldn’t have been able to touch the building he was in, let alone find his way down to the dungeon. This place was more heavily warded than home, and that was saying something. The three voices continued to taunt him as they called for him, getting louder with every passing second. He pressed his eyes shut, trying to block out the noise, but he jumped when suddenly there was the unmistakable sound of the bars on his cell shaking.  

“Sam! Sammy, come on, we gotta go!” He turned cautiously, sitting up on the bed and stared confused as his brother picked the lock on his cell, Mary Winchester and Castiel standing behind him. The iron bars swung open, but Sam didn’t move.  

“You’re all dead.” It was a whispered point of fact. No question, no uncertainty. Just fact. And Dean’s face hardened, jaw tensing, eyes narrowed. 

“Samantha. Winchester. I did not _fly_ all the way to _England_ to have you stare at me. I can explain the details later, but right now, we gotta go little brother.” He grabbed Sam’s arm and pulled him up from the bed. But before they could run anywhere Sam pulled his brother into a tight hug, confirming his existence. Dean was a little surprised, but quickly reciprocated, hands tightening on the thin shirt Sam had been given, pulling his little brother close. And then they let go and ran like their lives depended on it, mostly because they did. 

* * *

 

The bunker was quiet. Not that that was unusual, but looking back Dean would swear that it was the quiet before the storm, before his storm walked, crawled? was carried- into his life. Mary was already up when he stumbled into the kitchen, eyes still adjusting to being active, and his coordination lacking. She smiled at him and it was like he was five again, still wearing cheesy tshirts, and playing with toy soldiers. He smiled back blearily and hoarsely said good morning. 

 

“I made coffee already if that’s what you’re looking for, sweetheart.” Dean nodded and poured himself a cup. “This coffee maker is so strange….” He chuckled before taking a sip out of his mug. 

 

“A lot has changed since 1983, Mom.” She sipped her own coffee, nodding in silent agreement. Neither of them were talkative morning people, not like Sam who was probably out running already. Dean shook his head and chuckled a little under his breath, thinking of his tall, leggy brother, running around at the ass crack of dawn along the edges of a long abandoned field. He was a crazy son of a bitch that was for sure. But the thought was comforting, especially given the state they’d found his little brother in. 

 

“What’s bothering you, Sweetie?” Dean looked up at Mary, how on earth did she do that?

 

“Just thinking about Sammy.” She raised an eyebrow, and he sighed. She wasn’t going to let it go. “I feel like crap for letting him rot in that goddamn dungeon as long as we did.” 

 

“It wasn’t your fault, Dean.” 

 

“It’s my job to look out for him, and I didn’t.” She flinches a little at that, and suddenly Dean feels worse. But before she can respond Dean is apologizing, and then she’s shushing him, eyes misty and a sad smile on her lips. 

 

“I know you didn’t mean anything Dean, it’s okay, I wasn’t there—“ 

 

“Mom that wasn’t your fault—“ 

 

“But it was, I knew what the deal was—“ 

 

“Any of us would have tried to stop him—“ 

 

“I know, baby. But you were my children, and you grew up without a mother because I made a bad deal.” Her blue eyes went misty, and her face fell, eyes locked in a cold hard gaze that focused nowhere. 

 

“We wouldn’t have even been born without that deal, Mom. Please, don’t blame yourself, this isn’t your fault.” Dean pleaded with her, wishing desperately that he could make her see that she wasn't at fault for any of this. But he knew, he knew she was just as stubborn as he was, and that the best he could do was remind her that none of this was her fault. 

 

“I just, I never wanted this for you, I only wanted to get out.” Dean sets down his coffee mug and walks over to Mary, pulling her close to him, arms wrapping around her smaller frame easily, hands holding onto the fabric of her night shirt tight. He never thought that he’d smell that shampoo again, but the light scent of apples and vanilla wash over him as she returns the hug, arms stronger than they look, hands moving in small comforting circles over his shirt. 

 

“It’s okay, Mom. It’s all okay now.” She sighs and finally lets go of him, holding her firstborn at arms length, the same sad smile, but a proud light in her eyes. 

 

“You’ve grown up so well, Sweetie. I’m so proud of you.” Dean just looks down, blushing like an embarrassed teenager. A loud metallic creak echoes through the bunker as Sam get’s back from his run, still jogging down the steps and into the kitchen, where the atmosphere is light and sleepy again as Mary and Dean resume drinking their coffee. 

 

“Morning Mom, Jerk.” He punches Dean lightly on the arm as he heads to the fridge to retrieve a smoothy. Dean glared and rubbed his shoulder lightly, looking between it and Sam with distinct disdain. 

 

“Bitch.” 

 

“Dean—“ There was a warning tone in Mary’s voice, and Dean started to walk away, rolling his eyes. “Don’t you roll your eyes at me young man!” 

 

“What!” He spun to look at her “I would never—“ Sam laughed at him from his perch on a bar stool. Mary was about to start in on a lecture about lying, the whole scene becoming a comical farce being held together by a thin layer of suspension of disbelief, the group ignoring their respective ages and situation. And it would have continued well into breakfast, when there was a loud knocking on the bunker’s iron door. 

 

Everyone froze. Dean walked slowly out to the war room and looked up at the door cautiously. He turned to his brother who just shrugged.

 

“Maybe Cas?” Dean was about to call out for the angel when he appeared, disheveled and sleepy in the hallway, clearly in no state to be knocking on hidden bunker doors. 

 

“Do you get a lot of visitors?” Sam and Dean turned to their mother and shook their head’s vehemently. Guns were quickly drawn and Dean approached the door cautiously, opening it slowly, his heart was racing as adrenaline set in. But it was no demon waiting on the other side. 

 

“Jenna?” Was the only word that escaped Dean’s mouth and Sam and Mary looked confused, when a female voice answered, “Hey, Dean. It’s been a while.” 

 

“Is that a—“ 

 

“Yes.” 

 

“Who’s—“ 

 

“Her name is Katherine, and she’s your daughter, Dean.”

 


	2. 3 Percent Chance of Failure (Part Two)

“Dean is that really a hickey?” Sam laughs at him while he grabs a beer from the fridge. 

“Don't be jealous, it’s Valentines Day,” Dean winks and joins his at the table, blissfully unaware of how important the night before would become.

* * *

 

“Dean, please say something.” The grain of the wood in the bunker kitchen appeared to be infinitely interesting to Dean, as he stares down at the fluid lines, fingers tracing back and forth, saying nothing. Jenna Whitaker sits across the table from him, baby in her arms, she cradles the child gently rocking her back and forth. Cas sits next to Dean, a hand on his shoulder for a moment, silent words of comfort and support passing between them in the brief gesture. 

 

Sam watches his brother as the woman’s quiet plea for a response goes unanswered. His mother stands against the wall behind the woman and her child, Dean’s child, silently taking in her son’s sudden catatonic state. The woman, Jenna, nervous and shaken, eyes glassy. “Dean, please…” But still nothing from the elder Winchester. 

 

It’s Mary who speaks first, breaking the silence. “Can I see her?” There is a warm smile on her face as Jenna looks up at her, eyes wide, nodding her head gently. Mary takes her granddaughter into her arms gratefully, and coos at the child who giggles in response, pudgy little hands reaching up at Mary’s long hair, tangling with the blonde strands. “You’re a silly little baby aren’t you? Yes, you’re going to be lots of trouble someday.” She smiles and helpes the baby play with strands that she dangles, gently tickling the child’s nose and cheeks. Katherine gurgles in response, delighted by the dancing golden locks. “How old is she?” 

 

“4 months.” 

 

“4 months?” Dean echoes back, if at all possible sounding more stunned than he already was. “You’ve had her 4 whole months and now, now you come here?” 

 

“Dean—” Mary’s voice holds a warning tone, but it’s Sam who interrupts her.

 

“Dean’s right,” Mary looks at him dismayed. “You’ve known it was his, and it’s been literally months since she was born, why are you coming to us now?” Jenna looks down at the table, face reddening quickly. “We deserve an answer, Jenna.” Sam is severe and firm, but never harsh. 

 

“I know you do, and I’m trying to find a way to explain this without sounding crazy,” her voice catches on the last word. Dean leans back in his chair, and finally speaks. 

 

“Try me.” 

 

“My mother was a very religious woman, and I didn’t know my father, but my mum—” She sighs and runs a hand over her face and into her hair, gripping at the strands like she’s trying to hold onto her sanity that way. 

 

“Go on,” Dean’s voice is softer now.

 

“My mother always told me that my father was an angel.” Cas’ eyes widen with shock, and Dean just blinks in disbelief. “I know, crazy. But she wasn’t a crazy woman, I mean a little bit of a religious zealot, but this was the only thing she insisted on constantly. When other people asked about my father she told them that he worked with Doctors Without Boarders, and that’s why he was always gone. But in private, to me she always made sure that I knew my Father was an honest to god angel. I didn’t believe her until…” she trails off, eyes focusing nowhere. 

 

“Until what? Jenna?” Dean reaches out and cups her chin with one hand so she has to look at him. 

 

“After Katherine was born, she seemed so normal, she was perfect really. But then things started happening. Her eyes, they would glow a little in the dark, a beautiful light blue glow, she’d look at a door or a toy and make it move, and then there was the man. She took one look at him and started screaming, and then I looked right into his face and I saw it too, god it was so so awful…” Dean retreats back into his seat, arms crossed, thinking. 

 

“So you’re telling me she’d part angel?” 

 

“I don’t know, I only know she’s different, and I don’t know what to do.” 

 

“What was your father’s name?” It was Cas who spoke. 

 

“What?” 

 

“Your father, the angel, what was his name?” 

 

“I don’t understand, why is that—”

 

“I just want to know.” 

 

“Samael. His name was Samael.” Cas looks a little shocked, but says nothing in the moment. 

 

“You still haven’t really answered the question. So you’re both part angel, okay, fine. But why did you keep her from me until now?” Dean almost stares her down into the table. 

 

“I didn’t think you’d want anything to do with her, it was a one night stand and that was fine, I could deal with it. But then came the weird and I started having, visions, dreams, about you. Seeing you hunt. Things. And I knew you needed to know. I don’t know what to do Dean, and I really just want things to be normal again.” She sounded drained and done, like this was the end of the line. But something about that, her tone, it doesn't sit right with any of the boys, and a quick shared look between the three of them confirms the mutual feeling— she’s hiding something. “I know you probably want nothing to do with us, with her, you didn’t ask for this and I would understand if you didn’t want to be a part of her life—”

 

“I never said that,” Dean is quick to interrupt her there. He leans forward in his seat, uncomfortably playing with his hands, focusing down on the calloused fingers; while Sam and Cas stare at him- surprised to hear the almost confession. Mary just cradles the child, rocking back and forth, smiling at her eldest son. 

 

“I never said that I didn’t want to be a part of her life. I’m her- She’s my- You know.” He looks back up at her, the harshness in his eyes replaced with a determination that’s almost frightening. “But you need to tell us everything.” She nods silently. “You know because of these ‘visions’ that we’re hunters?” She nods again. “Okay, so what aren’t you telling us? You’re a nephilim. Okay, but you’ve never used your powers? And now you don’t know how to deal with hers? Sure. But that doesn’t add up to this—” he gestured to the room at large “—so what is missing in this story? What are you running from?” 

 

She swallows hard and looks back down at the table, her hands shaking, Dean notices bruising around her wrists as she clasps her hands in front of her. He reaches out and takes her hands, trying to help her nerves, but also to look more closely at the green and yellow bands running around her wrists. 

 

“Where did you get these?” Her eyes dart up to meet his with panic and fear. “Jenna? Who did this to you?” 

 

“There was a man, with black eyes. His face- god his face.” Dean squeezes her hands gently, encouraging her to go on. “He tried to take her away from me, Dean. I fought back, I don’t know where it came from but suddenly there was this power at my fingertips,” she zones out for a moment, eyes becoming unfocused again as she relives the experience, “before I killed him, he said more would come for her. I can’t stop them all, but here, here she might be safe.” Her eyes meet his again, the fear mixed with hope and in that moment Dean makes his decision. 

 

“What do you need me to do?” The room stills in the instant after he says it while everyone holds their breaths and she lets out a quiet sob of relief, her wet eyes grateful. 

 

“Take care of her for me. I can’t do this, I don’t even know where to begin, and this place—” she gazes around the bunker for a moment, “— she’ll be safe here. I can’t give her that, I need my life to be the way it was, as much as I want to love and care for her, I can’t protect her.” 

 

“And you think I can?” 

 

“I’ve seen what you can do, she will be safe here. I will only get in the way, at least in the beginning.” Dean nods his head in understanding and approval, this wasn’t something this woman, half angel or not had ever been faced with, the threat of abduction and torture were too much for her. 

 

“We have some safe houses, if you don’t want to stay here—”

 

“Thank you.” He nods again and removed his hands from hers, settling back into his chair. 

 

“Mom, can I see her?” Mary smiles and hands Dean his daughter. In that moment as Dean holds her, her knows that there is nothing in this world which would ever stop him from protecting this little girl.


	3. Apple Pie Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will she won’t she? We find out where Jenna stands in terms of living arrangements, and Dean settles into his role as a father. Mary and Sam do some good old fashioned bonding (we only see a brief bit of that, but I feel that writing out that plot line in its entirety really would merit its own fic). Also Cas gets headaches? And will that textbook Scully/Mulder sexual tension finally break for Dean and Cas?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So here we are. This has taken quite a while to finish up, but I’m glad that it has. Do not be fooled by the lack of a cliffhanger, this is no where near the end, I just wanted to give you some happy and establish some relationships before we dive into the real plot afoot. Trust me the next piece of this is really plot heavy whereas this is very much putting down ground work. That being said I did enjoy writing this and I hope you enjoy reading it!

There are things in Dean’s life that he’s never been afforded- home, family, love- they’ve all been taken away from him at one time or another, and he doesn’t remember when but he had stopped hoping a long time ago that he could have any semblance of the life he’s always longed for. He stopped believing he was even worthy of that kind of life- that someone with as many transgressions over that line between good and evil could deserve normal, could deserve the kind of innocent and pure love that come with family and home. 

 

But holding that little girl, his daughter, there was this pull deep in the bottom of his stomach, a need to love and protect her with everything he had. She was so innocent staring up at him, gurgling quietly, little hands reaching up to grab at his chin. 

 

“Hello sweetheart,” his voice breaks on the second syllable and Dean can feel his eyes getting wet, “she’s so cute.” There’s suddenly an arm around his shoulders, and he looks up to see Cas leaning over him to get a look at the child. Blue eyes catch green and share a look that makes everyone else in the room feel like they’re intruding. “What’d you think, Cas?” 

 

“She’d beautiful, Dean. And you are going to be an excellent father.” There’s a quiet tenderness in the angels voice that fills Dean with a paternal confidence that he didn’t think he had. He ducks his head, blushing and turns back to the rest of the room. 

 

“Jenna, we can move you into a safe house, or you can stay here. The bunker is probably the most secure place in world, you’ll both be safe here.” She stares at the scene for a moment, Dean with a man’s arm wrapped over his back, holding their child and she smiles shaking her head. 

 

“I wouldn’t want to cause trouble for you, Dean. Or interrupt anything.” There’s a knowing tone in her voice that gets a raised eyebrow from Sam, but neither Dean or Cas seem to catch on. 

 

“You wouldn’t be, I promise. She’s your daughter, Jenna, unless you don’t want to be—”

 

“Staying here would be nice,” she cuts him off quickly, “I didn’t bring her here to drop her on you Dean. I love her, she’s my daughter, and if you think I can be here with her and both of us will be safe, then I will be. Deal?” 

 

“Deal.” 

* * *

 

There is some debate about which rooms would be best suited to a nursery and where Jenna should sleep, Dean is still confused about why she had thought he and Cas would share a room, but it was done now. They had found a room which shared an external wall for the baby, Sam and Cas had argued that this could be dangerous if there really were people looking for Katherine, but everyone finally agreed that with some small sigels painted in the corners the window should be perfectly safe from anything supernatural trying to break in. Jenna took the room next door to Katherine’s. 

 

It had been a long day, and there had been a lot to process, but when Dean collapsed onto the bed he had not intended to fall asleep. His dreams were dark, which wasn’t abnormal, but the fear that permitted his body was different tonight. It was like the shock that comes with cold water- paralyzing and panicked. And then he was being shaken away, strong hands holding his shoulders. 

 

“Dean, Dean it’s a dream, wake up.” 

 

“Cas?” Dean blinked in the dim light of his bedside table, worried sapphire eyes trained on him from above. 

 

“Yes. I’m here.” Dean can feel gentle circles being rubbed into his shoulders, Cas’ thumbs are firm but gentle, the small gesture puts Dean’s senses into a lull, and he finds his mind wandering from the state of shock in his nightmare and the warm buzz that Cas’ hands bring. 

 

“Cas,” the words sound needy, but he’s too tired to care, “Cas she was missing, I couldn’t, couldn’t find her, was frozen, and, and— mmmm,” the words catch in his throat when the hands move to the hard muscles along his neck, tense and damp with cold sweat. 

 

“And what, Dean?” The tension in his body was ebbing away slowly, and the fog was clearing from his mind, the images of his missing daughter fading more rapidly with every moment, replaced by the ever increasing pleasure that came with those hands. 

 

But before he can respond or think about what was happening, there is a shrill scream that echoes through the tile halls, and Dean jumps, almost hitting Cas, straight out of the bed, gun in hand. He skids to a stop in front of his daughter’s open door, ready to fight and completely awake now. But there are no monsters, there is no intruder, nothing hiding in the shadows. Jenna is holding her, rocking the baby gently. 

 

“Just hungry,” Jenna smiles at him, and sit in the rocking chair that now occupies the corner. Concern fills her face when she notices the gun in his hand, “are you okay?” He nods silently and pushes the gun into the back of his waist band. 

 

“Yeah, I just thought, you know.” 

 

“It’s okay, babies cry at night sometimes, that doesn’t mean she’s in trouble.” 

 

“I know that—,” She shakes her head, laughing a little.

 

“Go put the gun away and then you can feed her since you’re so concerned.” She smirks at him and he freezes. 

 

“Oh, um, yeah, okay,” Dean’s voice betrays the panic, “ I mean if you think that’s okay.” 

 

“You’re her father, you’ll be fine.” He nods sternly and with a look of determination heads off to put away the pistol. As he;s walking back to his room he runs into Cas, his face scrunched up with worry. 

 

“Dean is everything okay?” 

 

“Yeah, Katherine is just hungry.” 

 

“Oh,” there is evident relief in Cas’ tone, “okay. Is there anything I can do to help?” 

 

“No, I think I’ve got it covered.” But even as he says it, Dean’s nightmare scenario comes to mind and walking away from Cas the only question on his mind is how in the hell he’s going to be a father for this child. 

 

Gun stowed, Dean returns to his daughter’s nursery, Jenna still rocking her slowly. Hearing him enter she looks up, and standing slowly, holds out her arms for him to take her. Holding her, Dean is still in awe at how small she is, and seriously questions how someone that small can make as much noise as she is now. The sound that comes from her tiny toothless mouth is almost deafening when she settles into his arms. A mewling cry that just doesn’t stop. 

 

“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay, Kat— please don’t cry,” Dean shoots Jenna a panicked look, she raises an eyebrow and smirks. 

 

“I’ll be back in a minute with a bottle.” And then it’s just Dean and the screaming child. She is so small in him arms, barely filling the space created in the crook of his arm, but containing her becomes a challenge as she kicks legs smaller that his forearm vigorously, fighting to escape and find food. 

 

“Shh, shh, it’s okay Katie, mom’ll be back soon and we’ll get you something to drink. Okay? Shh, please don’t cry kiddo. I’ve got you,” she struggles more insistently, tiny jaws mouthing at the material on his shirt, “sorry honey, but dad doesn’t have anything there for ya.” Dean rocks her gently again, trying to calm the apparently starved baby girl. “It isn’t that bad kid, you’ll have food soon, alright?” She calms a little, seemingly realizing that she wasn’t going to find milk anywhere on Dean, but she still mewls pitifully, pudgy legs kicking in an attempt to be free of her swaddling and consequently free to move and find food. “Kiddo, sweet-pea, I know you wanna get free but right now I need you to be still okay,” Dean makes eye contact with the four-month-old, big hazel eyes meeting green ones, she stills more, “just be patient for dad okay? Can you do that? I’m not very good at this, I just need you to be patient, kiddo.” She coos gently at him, eyes looking over his face like he’s an alien. But to her, he assumes that’s who he must seem.   

 

Jenna pushes through the door and the moment is broken, and the not-so-bundle-of-joy starts crying again for food.  

 

“Here you go, Dean.” She directs him to the rocking chair in the corner and soon Katherine is gulping down the formula like it’s her last meal on Earth. Jenna stays for a little while, but soon Dean is left alone with her and the night is still and quiet again, save for the gurgles of the feeding baby and Dean’s soft whispers to her. 

 

“It’s been a while since I’ve done this, you know?” He gazes down into her peaceful face, lost in memories of holding Sam like this as a baby, but remembering him being much larger than his own daughter is. Being only a child himself he supposes it would have seemed that way. “Sammy was always a big eater. But I think you could give him a run for his money, kiddo.” He sets down the bottle on a night stand, and props her up on his shoulder to burp her, talking quietly to her all the while. “You’re so small, how do you even eat that much? I mean you’re too small,” she coos, “yes, yes you are.”

 

Dean paces the bunker, and long after she’s burped and the bottles and rags are put up, he holds her gently, pointing out all the rooms in her new home. “And there’s your Uncle Sammy’s room, he doesn’t go out for decorating much, but I bet you’ll be able to change that soon. Yeah,” her eyes droop as they walk, and soon Dean finds himself in the upstairs observatory room, curled up with Katherine in his arms, naming stars in a quiet incoherent babble.

* * *

 

Mary is leaned against the cold metal counter top of the bunker kitchen when Sam walks in, holding a steaming mug in her long thing fingers, turned pink from the warm ceramics, face turned down toward the steam, long blonde hair curling against her jaw and cheek, framing the worry and apprehension on her face. His heavy quick footsteps falter on the stairs into the room when she looks up to meet his eyes, and a fleeting look of shock is replaced with a warm smile. 

 

“Morning, Mom.” He moves to grab a smoothy from the fridge. 

 

“Good morning, Sam. Did you have a good run?” She takes a sip of her coffee and watches him from over her mug.

 

“Yeah, yeah, it was okay. I almost broke my record, maybe next time.” The room takes on a quiet stillness that has come to be comfortable and common between Mary and her younger son. She wanted to ask him about everything, she needed to know him and learn who her beloved baby has become in her absence. 

 

“I’m sure you will, but don’t push yourself too hard.” He laughs a kind of half laugh, and shakes his head gently. 

 

“Don’t worry mom, I won’t.” 

“Good.” She goes back to her coffee, taking another sip before she starts pulling together the things she’ll need for breakfast. Sam quickly falls into step next to her. Together they start to pull together what they need for waffles and bacon. 

 

Eggs, butter, buttermilk, and flour are passed back and forth across the kitchen from now Winchester to another. 

 

“Hey mom, can I ask you something?” 

 

“Hmm, sure honey.” 

 

“Did you and dad do this before…?” The question hangs in the air for a moment. It isn’t the first time Sam had approached his mother with a question like this, and as he gets to know her more the questions he has become more concrete, and become easier and easier to ask. 

 

“Sometimes,” she pauses for a moment, hands tangled in the wash cloth she was using to wipe flour off her hands, “sometimes I’d do it alone and surprise him, he used to work extra shifts at the ends of a week, but he always tried his hardest to be home on Sundays.” Sam hums quietly in response, just listening to her voice and taking in everything that she has to tell him. 

 

The waffles find their way into the oven to stay warm, and Mary puts on another pot of coffee for Dean, Cas, and Jenna when they get up. Sam puts a light hand on her shoulder, a touching gesture before he leaves the kitchen to go shower and put on clean clothes. On his way to the shower room he looks in on Katherine’s room, but finds the crib empty. Red flags go up and he quickly sprints to Jenna’s room, taking a moment to breathe before knocking on the door. 

 

“Sam?” Jenna’s voice comes from behind him, and he jumps, spinning around to face her. “What’s up?” She looks amused and confused at his appearance outside her door. 

 

“Um, I was just, uh, Katherine, where, do you know where she is?” The words spill out in a half formed thought, that puts frown on Jenna’s face. 

 

“She should be in her crib, why?” 

 

“She’s not there.” Her eyes go wide at that, and her mouth forms a confused ‘o’ for a moment before she speaks. 

 

“What?” It’s harsh and too loud in the tiled hallways. 

 

“I was just looking and she’s not there.” She pushes past him and starts rushing down the hall, Sam close behind. Jenna looks through the room quickly, taking a deep breath when she doesn't find Katherine. 

 

“Dean fed her last night.” Sam nods and leads her to his room. Before they can knock Cas interrupts them, bleary eyed and still half asleep. 

 

“They’re not there.” 

 

“What?”

“What?” Jenna and Sam’s voices in unison makes Cas’ head spin some and he rubs his temple, trying to shake the headache he can feel coming on. 

 

“Dean and Katherine, they’re not in there.” 

 

“Yeah, Cas we got that. So where are they, do you know?” Cas weaves a little, he really is still exhausted, but he’s not really sure why. 

 

“Upstairs,” he makes a vague gesture to the ceiling, like that should explain everything, and rubs the sleep out of his eyes with the other hand. But before he can say anything else Jenna and Sam are already walking away. Cas stretches his jaw and follows them. “Sam, Jenna, wait,”  they pause and turn to look at him, he doesn’t finish the sentence, he only pushes through them, raises a finger to his lips and shushes them, leading them to the observatory stairs. 

 

There on the couch in the center of the room is Dean, curled around Katherine like a big flannel cat. Jenna and Sam’s eyes go wide and a collective “oh” falls from their lips as they realize Cas’ need for quiet. The angel nods approvingly at their newfound silence, and wanders into the room, grabs a book from one of the side tables, and settles onto a floor cushion, leaning against the couch, careful not to disturb Dean or Katherine. 

 

The others leave eventually and Cas dozes off while reading about planted aquariums. Katherine gurgles quietly as she starts to wake up, stretching and pulling at the blanket Dean had draped them in. Dean is soon to follow, and gently nudging Cas awake, he, his daughter, and the angel make their way down to the kitchen.


	4. Gossip Ghouls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rowena doesn't necessarily like clubs, tonight is an exception. Tonight she's hunting. 
> 
> Dean, Sam, Cas, Mary, Jenna, and baby too go have some good old fashioned domestic fun in the park. Mary is a masterful conversationalist, Dean glares at a Mazda, and there's trouble on the horizon for the happy family group.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, now we're really getting into the meat of the plot here. Well not the meat, but we're definitely starting to carve the chicken you know? It's coming. The big bad stuff is coming I promise. But this is a half decent chapter in my opinion. Be kind it hasn't been proof read yet because my proof reader decided to go to the gym (gag, kidding I love you and I should go too), instead of hanging out with me until class at 5 tonight, so. Ignore obvious typos. 
> 
> and as always 
> 
> ENJOY 
> 
> *feedback is very much appreciated!!!!!

Red, there’s just red everywhere. Dean can’t see anything but red— hot, thick, suffocating red. He was neck deep in it, but the flood just keeps on coming. Cas’ hands covered the wound, light streaming from them, but then the light flickered. Cas’ brow creased, concentrating hard on the task at hand. But as the angel wavers, body swaying, hands shaking, Dean can see that this isn’t something that’s ever going to be fixed. 

* * *

 

Red lights play on the dark wood bar of the club. Deep bass tones undulate through the building, filling up all the spaces in-between people, monsters, and things living in between. The Red Room is crowded tonight, and she almost has a hard time finding a table to sit at, but the host through no personal volition finds her a good table along the wall. Her drink and meal come quickly, compliments of the house, and so she silently tucks in, smiling to herself, smugly satisfied. 

 

“Come on, Jamie, you can’t really think that this shit is real?” 

 

“I heard it from Brutus, one of the Winchesters had a kid, and she’s the one man, she’s gonna be the death of us all.” 

 

“Bullshit.” 

“Excuse me?” 

 

“You heard me, Brutus is full of bullshit.” 

 

“I don’t know, Kitty, I heard the same from one of my buddies in the Dark Sect. Accordin’ to that lot this prophecy’s been ‘round for a while. But it’s been all hush hush.” 

 

“Sure, Kenneth, I’m sure it is.” Rowena could hear the massive eye roll that came with the statement. After that the conversation dropped into an uncomfortable silence while the waitress serve them fried fingers and thigh tenders. “Even if it is real, you can’t possibly believe that you’re powerful enough to take on the Winchesters. I mean let’s be realistic here, what would any of use be abel to do about it anyway?” 

 

“An adult Winchester no, but if we could get to the kid, the power we could have over them Kitty. The power we could have in Hell, I mean think about it. Queen of Hell on our side, what couldn’t we have?” 

 

“A pulse if you’re not careful.” Rowena sipped on her white wine, swirling it in the glass a little before carefully setting it back on the hardwood. “I just don’t think this is really anything for us to be concerned with.” 

 

“I thought you said it was bullshit.” The one named Jamie chimed in again, goading the woman on. 

 

“I don’t really. But even if it is, God knows the Winchesters get around, I’m not terribly concerned with the outcome. I mean realistically, what can a baby do to use anyway? It’s just not worth my time.” And with the the conversation seemed to petter out, being replaced with bar talk. Rowena took her time eating, carefully eyeing the rest of the club, taking in everyone and everything, but keeping a special eye on the table she was sitting behind, making sure not to loose them the crowd. 

 

The rumor that there was a new Winchester in the mix had been circulating through the underbelly of the monster world for the last few weeks now, demons citing vicious attacks on those who had been sent to retrieve intel about the child. It wasn’t that Rowena didn't’ believe that the child existed, certainly it was possible that the child existed. She just didn't’ believe the more common rumors of death and destruction that came with her. At least not yet. 

 

The night wore on, and the witch was slowly working her way through a second glass of wine, watching the group she’d followed in. The girl had given up on dancing with the crowd a while ago and was playing pool with a group of werewolves by the bar. The two men however, Jamie and Kenneth, they were failing equally at trying to catch a girl to go to bed with. It was only when they started to look truly desperate that Rowena stepped in. 

 

Abandoning her table and her wine, she sauntered out to the dance floor, using a glamour to make herself irresistible to the two. The affect was immediate and soon she had them practically hanging off her every word. 

 

“You two really know how to show a girl a good time,” she practically giggled, the two men grinned at her, clearly lusting after the redhead, taking in a dramatic breath she continued, pulling them further into her web, “but it’s so hot in here, who would you two like to take this somewhere a little cooler, and maybe,” she paused for affect, lowering her voice so the had to lean in to hear her over the music, “maybe somewhere a little more, private?” The promise of sex written all over her face and laced through her body language. 

 

It was with more a quick push towards the door and less verbal confirmation that Rowena left, the two intoxicated men doggedly following her. She took them through a quick series of back allies before coming to the back door of the high end hotel she was booked in. Leading them to the penthouse elevator they ascended slowly to the top. The men took this opportunity to claim her, possessively holding her close between them, eyes and mouths dragging over her neck and mouth. Rowena skillfully responded to their attentions, taking her time pushing them over the edge and wrapping them into her web more securely than before. 

 

The elevator pinged at them, opening into the penthouse. Rowena pushed them forcefully into the room, but what they mistook as a rush to fuck was a literal spider’s web. With a flick of the wrist and quick incantation they were strung up like flies between the walls of the room. And then there was the widow that put them there. She was suddenly deadly in a whole new light, leaving Jamie and Kenneth stuttering at a loss for what had just happened. 

 

“L-lady, what, what’s going on? Is this some kind of role-playing, BDSM thing?” 

 

“What, what the fuck? Oh my god it’s sticky!” Their complaints continued while Rowena secured the magic holding them in the web, making sure she hadn’t left any room for failure. It didn’t matter what these two were, and from the looks of the teeth growing in on Jamie they were vampires, there was no escaping this. 

 

Satisfied with the webbing Rowena produced a surgical knife from her clutch. Turning back to the vampires, one of whom was now trying to bite his way out of the web, only to come up with a mouthful of the sticky silk, she smiled sweetly. 

 

“Now boys, you’re going to tell me what you know abbot the Winchester child, and where I can find out more? Sound fun?” The vampire who wasn’t spitting silk out of his mouth spat at her feet. 

 

“Bite me, lady.” She grinned and slashed the knife through the air quickly. A long red gash appeared on the man’s arm, his scream echoing off the high walls of the hotel room. 

 

“Oh, I intend to dearie.” 

* * *

 

The park was a comfortable seventy degrees, leaves were just starting to change, and Dean wasn’t sweating in the sweater he’d pulled on this morning. The whole family had ventured out today, his mother and Sam relaxing under one of the park gazebos, Jenna was pushing Katherine’s stroller and Cas was nearby, getting drinks and food out of the trunk of the Impala. As far as they could tell there was nothing to be concerned about. The monster world had gone relatively quiet after God and Amara’s departure. The angels according to Castiel were taking a little break to re-evaluate their hierarchy again now that God had returned. 

 

So as far as Dean was concerned, for the moment at least, his work was done. Hence the picnic. Sam had actually gaped at him when he’d suggested it, but with some words of encouragement from his mother and a gentle smile from Cas the whole group had collectively piled into the Impala and Jenna’s Mazda. It was the first time Dean had looked at the little green car and not wanted to deface it. 

 

“So other than hunting monsters, what do you and you family do?” Jenna’s question took by surprise and it took him a moment to think of an appropriate response. 

 

“What do you mean?” 

 

“Well I mean how do you pay the bills? You’ve got to have some kind of paying job to keep the lights on at home, right?” Dean cleared his throat awkwardly, painfully aware that he’d never worked a job outside of food service, bar tending, and retail in his life, and even those jobs had been short lived and mostly taken on as a way to go undercover. Even though he essentially saved the world for a not-so-much living, Dean still felt uncomfortable with his unemployed status. He wasn’t sure why, he knew that what his family did was essential to keeping balance in the scales between the human and not-so-human world. It was just one of those things that was uncomfortable for him, and always would be. 

 

He finally settled on the truth, “We don’t really. The bunker kind of just works. Sammy and I don’t really know why, we’re pretty sure there’s magic involved.” 

 

“So you two just hunt monsters for a living then? Is there some kind of secret government task force that pays you, or—” the look on Dean’s face silenced her for a moment, and she sounded shocked when she did continue, “wow, so you guys really are just on your own here, hunting down things that most people don’t even believe exist, and you do it all for free? Thats really—” 

 

“Yeah, I know it kind of sucks as a gig, but it’s kind of the—”

 

“Heroic.” 

 

“Family business.” Dean stopped walking for a moment to stare at her, stunned by her response to that fact that the father of her child didn’t have an honest job. He had stopped thinking of himself as a hero after he’d gone to Hell. The kid that yelled down the hall at the girls in high school that he was a hero was dead after that, and it had been a long time since he’d ever really thought of the things he did as heroic so much as atoning for his transgressions.

 

Jenna doesn’t notice the falter in his movements and so in the moment that Dean’s taken to process what she’s just said she and Katherine have continued rolling down the path, he jogs quickly to fall into step beside them again. 

 

“I mean I wouldn’t say that, but I guess.” She gives him a look that says _really? come on Dean, stop being modest_ , but Dean being more obstinate than the dandelion you keep spraying with raid and won’t just die, persists in his denial of the truth she’s just spoken. 

 

They’re getting closer to the gazebo that his mother and Sam are at when Cas gets back, putting the cooler on the ground next to the picnic table, he starts to disperse drinks between himself and the two Winchesters sitting with him. It’s when the sandwiches make their way onto the painted wood that Dean finds himself speed walking a little, looking forward to the BLTs that he’d made that morning, but also avoiding anymore strange conversations about being heroic with the mother of his child. 

 

Lunch in the park turns out to be fairly relaxing after the employment conversation. He’s not sure if that’s because Jenna took the hint that he didn’t really like to talk about his work, or because Mary Winchester is a master at engaging people in conversations that keep them talking about themselves instead of inquiring after you. 

 

Over the course of the meal, which Dean is fairly proud of, BLTs, beer, and some damn good potato salad, they find out that Jenna used to be a managing art director at a gallery in Lawrence. That she had actually grown up in Big Sandy, Montana, but her parents had moved her just before her freshman year of high school. She’d been on the prom court and had gone on to get a degree in fine arts and art history from Northwestern before coming home to work in one of the art galleries. She was also apparently very fond of cats and koi. An interesting mix to say the least. 

 

But through the whole course of the outing very little was ever exposed about the Winchester’s complicated past. Mary Winchester was a master at this, and Dean was almost impressed at the ways she steered their conversations. He wondered if that was a product of growing up a hunter, having to keep secrets but then draw them out of witnesses. 

 

“So then,” Jenna practically giggles, “my cat, Mittens, he reaches down at the fish, thinking he’s going to get some of that action, the moment his paw hit the water he jumped about three feet into the air, but moved forward, so instead of avoiding the pond, he leapt right into it, soaking himself and scaring all the fish away at the same time!” Her smile really is contagious, capturing the amusement of Mary and Sam, who join her with their own laughing fits, doubling over in hysterics. Dean himself would be as amused by the story as the others, but Cas nudges him gently, pointing out two men walking towards them on the trail that circles the park and leads into the state park. 

 

“Demons.” Cas hisses in his ear. He deftly reaches for the knife tucked into his bootstrap. He hears Cas’ trench coat rustle, and he knows the angel is reaching for his own weapon. 

* * *

 

“So tell me, boys,” Rowena drags the flat of her blade against her palm, fingers delicate and deadly in her holding of the weapon, “if I was going to find this ‘Dark Sect,’ terrible name by the way, too clichéd, but if I was going to find them, where would a girl go looking, hmmm?” The two vampires she’d strung up the night before were still hanging in her web, their blood dripping into congealing pools on the floor. They truly were teetering on the edge of life and death, but Rowena was careful not to kill them out right. 

 

“Go to hell lady,” Jamie spat down at her feet, more blood than saliva at this point. The knife flicked gently in her hands and there was a new gash across his cheek, fresh blood dripping down the stubble on his face. He groaned, the pain nothing compared to the hits he’d been taking all night. 

 

“Chicago.” She turned to the other one, Kenneth, and raised an eyebrow. 

 

“Excuse me.” 

 

“Their HQ is in Chicago,” the vampire wheezed and coughed with the effort it took to speak. But Rowena wanted more. 

 

“Chicago is a very large city if I remember correctly, it was certainly ganging ground a hundred years ago. Where in Chicago?” 

 

“Down on the lake somewhere,” he coughed up more blood, spitting crudely onto the floor, “I’ve only been there once. They bagged my head, but I could smell the lake.” 

 

Rowena smiled a real smile for the first time all night, finally getting the answers she was looking for. 

 

“And what else can you tell me about them, dearie?” She waved a hand, healing his wounds just enough to ease the pain a little. 

 

“Their leader, they call him the Ambassador. He speaks for their prophet, I’ve always thought it was bullshit, but they think they’ve got themselves this prophet that gives them sacred tasks or some bullshit.” 

“Shut your fucking mouth Ken—”

 

“Or what, the goddamn ‘Dark Sect’ is gonna come after me? Fuck that. I’m not dying over this shit.” 

 

“A good decision on your part, I assure you dear.” Rowena praised, the knife laying still in her palms. “But I do admit you were a little silly to give me all that with no guarantee of your life.” Her lips curled up into a delighted smile, a panther sizing up it’s prey, the red painted on her lips was like blood in the dawn light streaming in through the penthouse window. 

 

“What, no, that was our deal! I tell you and I—” His protests were cut off at the same time as his head. 

 

“I’m afraid we never really did come to an agreement on a deal did we?” She shook her head in mock sadness, before looking up at Jamie. “What on earth am I going to do with you. I can’t have you blabbing all over the place like this one.” She nudged away the decapitated head with a grimace. 

 

“I ain’t no snitch, lady.” 

 

“I can see that, you’ve persevered quite well all night. But still—” Rowena eyed him like she was considering a serious decision, but before another word could pass through the vampire’s lips his fate was sealed, his head rolling across the floor, “can’t have you talking to your friends now can we? No, I didn’t think so.” 

 

The only evidence that Rowena bothers to clean up is the massive spider web hanging in the room. No need to put the Winchesters on her case just yet. Clearing it away with a quick incantation, the room looks like a double homicide and less like a sci-fi thriller. And to any hunters watching the scanner, it was just a messy kill with poor clean up.

 

Walking through the alley behind the hotel, Rowena can hear the maid scream all the way from the street. She smiles and continues on through to the street, never even breaking stride. 

* * *

 

Cas tenses next to Dean, angel blade in hand. The demons are progressing steadily towards them, no intention of stopping. Sam freezes, seeing the knife in his brother’s hand, Mary quickly follows. 

 

“Demons, on the trail.” Dean whispers hoarsely, adjusting the grip on his blade. He glances at Jenna, who is now fixed on the approaching men, eyes wide. 

 

“I can see their faces.” Dean puts a hand on her shoulder, pulling her back into reality. 

 

“Take Katherine, head down the trail. Sam, go with her.” His brother nods and the three are soon out of the gazebo and heading down the path that leads further into the woods, onto the state park, away from the public. 

 

Dean would look back on this moment five, ten, years from now and regret that order, but then again everything is twenty-twenty in hindsight. 


End file.
